Heading Home
by Corlee
Summary: While heading home to Storybrooke aboard the Jolly Roger, Killian checks on Emma and Henry down in the Captain's quarters.


The boards creaked underneath Emma's feet, the ship swaying back and forth on the midnight tide. The moon crept in through the cabin window.

The water seemed to sing in the background, the soft sound lulling Henry to sleep. She watched him lying in the cot, a permanent smile at the corner of her lips. He was safe now, and home was just a good night's sleep away. None of them had had a successful sleep, and she wasn't about to start now until he was in his own bed.

She heard the door creak open, but dared not look away. From the sound of the shuffle, she knew it was him.

"Swan," he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Your father is taking over the helm. Just a couple of more hours and we're back to shore."

She nodded, sneaking a side glance. When the black didn't grace her line of sight, she looked up to give him her full attention. He had changed, the smell of the jungle no longer radiating from him. He was wearing looser, blue slacks now, old and creased as if they hadn't seen sun and skin in quite some time. His shirt was white and a little tattered. He seemed equally comfortable and anxious at the same time. "Almost didn't recognize you without the funereal coat," she whispered.

He laughed under his breath. "It will make its swift return in the morning, don't you fret, love."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He walked over, but instead of sitting next to her, he walked over to the cot and knelt down to see Henry's face. His hand touched the mop of Henry's hair, pushing the loose strands away from his eyes. Killian smiled with sadness. He knew that Emma had gotten what she came for. Her happiness radiated from her body. While he relished in her aura, he knew that the possibility was great that she would no longer need him. He stood up, brushing away an insistent crease on his shirt. "He's a good lad, your boy."

"Yeah…yeah he really is. The best. It's funny…if you would have asked me three years ago, I would have said all of this was just some nightmare. But now? I wonder how I lived so long without him. If I would have lost him, I…" She stood up and began to pace.

"But you didn't, and he's here. We're…you're almost home."

She turned to face him. "What do you mean? You can't go back there. Where are you going to go?" He walked up to her with caution, careful to brace himself with the correct words.

"I'm a man of the sea, love. Plus, you wouldn't want me back there. What would they say?" he asked, exasperation tangled in his voice.

Emma gazed down at the floorboards. She traced the toe of her boot along the cracks, wishing they would fill. "They'll say you're a hero, because that's what you'll be. That's what you are to us, to Henry, to…to me." The tide crashed into the starboard and the ground tilted upwards, sending Emma into his chest. His balance was steadfast, he barely budged, but as soon as he held her with his weight, he felt nervous. His memory brought him back to the kiss in the jungle and he lost all sense of wit again.

To his surprise, she didn't let go. "You're being too forgiving to my reputation."

"Everyone deserves a second chance, Jones."

He gulped down the concrete in his throat at the sound of his last name on her lips. He pursed and licked his own. "And me? How many chances do I get?"

"However many it takes to get it right with them, you have my word."

Once the floor returned to a steadier level, Killian raised his hand and gently touched her neck. He brought his thumb to her bottom lip and grazed it from one end to the other. He dared not look in her eyes this time, just focused on her lips. "And you?"

"Don't push your luck," she whispered, not looking at his eyes either. Henry stirred in the background and they both turned to look. He had shifted, his face now turned towards the inside of the cot. Emma, not realizing she had a ball of Killian's shirt clenched in her fist, released him, his hand dropping but tracing every inch of her arm as she let go.

"I should check how your father is doing. Any longer and he'll be sinking this ship."

"Jones," she stopped him, grabbing the very same wrinkle in his shirt once more.

His lungs filled with salt air and hope. "Yes?"

"I like this…but keep the coat."

His smile was much larger than he wished to release, but he quickly closed his mouth and bowed his head. A flurry of blood vessels rushed to his cheeks like roses. She released her hand but he gripped her wrist before she could leave him again. His thumb circled the inside of her palm. "Aye," he promised.


End file.
